HP: Night of the Wolf

"I'm scared, Harry," Minerva whispered as she clung to his shirt. "It's like how it was before, but the prophecy…"

Harry offered his wife a reassuring smile.

"My whole life has led to this," he murmured. "With him gone, I will finally be able to live."

"Have we not been living these past few decades?" Minerva replied sadly.

We have," Harry replied, "but he has always been there, and always will until one of us dies. I tried to ignore it, Minerva, but I am drawn to him to like a moth to a flame. For everything he has ever done to me, it has to be this way."

Minerva nodded as her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Don't leave me alone, Harry. I don't know what I would do without you."

Harry sighed gently as he pulled her closer to his chest.

"You never will be," he promised.

"Kill them all!"

At his command, the men that had served him so loyally on the continent so many years ago attacked, and the Death Eaters immediately found themselves on the defensive.

Those that didn't manage to shield themselves or avoid the onslaught screamed in agony as they were set upon, but Harry's eyes were fixed on only one person.

His fury was palpable, the sight of the man that had tormented him since he had been little more than a year old bringing the worst out in him.

That simmering anger and hatred he felt at the murder of his parents, the death of Cedric, the loss of Sirius, and every single other transgression that Tom Riddle had dared to commit against him tore through Harry.

Riddle was a monster, but in this moment, it was Harry that was to be feared, though his foe showed little of it.

Whatever shock he had experienced initially seemed to have worn off quickly, and he brought his wand to bear, a flurry of spells bursting from the tip.

With a wave of Harry's wand, they came to nothing, swept aside as though they were nothing more than a minor irritant.

The casual dismissal angered the Dark Lord and he sent forth another effort, to no avail.

Harry simply stepped out of their path before sending his rebuttal, and he felt a wave of satisfaction as Tom's eyes widened in concern.

If his first offering elicited such a reaction, then Riddle was in for a rude awakening in the coming moments.

Still, he smiled in his own deluded way as he breathed a fireball into his hand and manipulated it into an enormous snake, beaming smugly as it lunged towards Harry.

Again, with little more than a wave of his wand, the Dark Lord's effort was eradicated, much to the man's surprise.

"Pathetic," Harry snorted before returning the gesture, his own serpent much larger and burning hotter than Voldemort's.

The mocking only served to anger his foe more, and with a scream of rage mixed with desperation, he managed to nullify Harry's fiery creation with an elaborate, backhanded gesture with his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The sight of the same spell that robbed Harry of his parents no longer frightened him as it once had, no longer haunted his dreams with the pleading of his mother.

No, it served only to fuel his need for vengeance, but Tom Riddle would not be granted such a painless, easy death.

The man would suffer dearly, and as Harry spun away from the killing curse, his nostrils flared as he readied himself to make the next, and last moments of Voldemort's life more painful, and unpleasant than Harry's had ever been throughout his formative years.

(Break)

It felt almost like the days of fighting Grindelwald's men on the continent, though waging war inside the Ministry was a far cry from the various far-flung cities they had fought in.

Still, war was war and Charlus found himself engaged in one once more, even if it would be decided in a single battle in which neither side could nor would flee.

It was as though no time had passed at all as the Lord Potter fired curse after curse towards his enemies, those that remained, at least.

The ones that had been sent into the Ministry first had already either been subdued or killed int their attempted coup.

The Death Eaters numbers had already been reduced significantly, and it was only a matter of time before they were left with no choice but concede defeat.

Until then, the fighting would continue, and though it felt the same as it had those many decades prior, the enemy was undoubtedly different.

Here, they were not facing men hardened by years of battle, but spoiled purebloods fighting only to survive.

Charlus ducked an unpleasant rupturing curse that was sent his way by a masked assailant and nodded gratefully as his attacker was felled by a rebuttal from Jack who had chosen to fight alongside Charlus and Arcturus.

Although they were hidden beneath their robes and masks, Reg and Gilbert, as ever, were back-to-back, fighting as they always did.

They made quite the formidable team, their work as synchronised as it had ever been.

"Bloody hell," Charlus cursed as the atrium became suddenly hot, and he could only look on as a fiery serpent struck at Harry who dispatched it almost casually.

The magic wielded by Voldemort was dangerous, but Harry's own offering proved to be more so.

His own snake dwarfed the Dark Lord's, and Charlus felt beads of sweat immediately pour down his face beneath his own mask.

"This is why we give him a wide berth," he explained to Jack with a chuckle, blasting aside a Death Eater who appeared in front of them.

Jack shook his head and flinched as Harry unleashed another spell, the power behind it tearing chunks of the granite floor away as it careened towards Voldemort who conjured a bronze shield.

The impact sent the man back almost a dozen feet, the resulting rumble from the force reverberating off the walls, but his shield had prevented the worst of the damage.

With a scream of frustration, he launched the scattered debris of the floor towards Harry who merely banished them back towards Voldemort, transfiguring them into round projectiles adorned with spikes.

Much to his credit, the Dark Lord didn't shy away from them and instead whipped his wand upwards, sending the balls into the high ceiling above before slashing his wand downwards.

A bolt of lightning crackled from the tip and soared towards Harry who met it in kind with his own.

The two men circled around one another as the already damaged floor below them was scorched, but once more, it was Harry who got the better of the exchange.

With his free hand, he threw a fireball towards Voldemort, forcing him to break the connection to prevent himself from being immolated.

Glaring balefully, the Dark Lord raised his wand, only for his eyes to widen as an enormous fist created from the water of the nearby fountain slammed into his back, sending him sprawling forwards.

The sodden Voldemort, however, sprung to his feet instantly, batting aside a severing curse and ducking beneath two other spells Charlus did not recognise.

"Crucio!" Voldemort shrieked.

His effort came to nothing as Harry simply circled away from the torture curse, though his expression somehow became more hateful, and he unleashed a plethora of spells that Voldemort struggled to defend himself against.

Harry's attack became relentless, but Charlus found himself engaged by another group of Death Eaters, and his attention was once more drawn to his own battle.

(Break)

"This takes me back," Reg chuckled as he sent a bone-splintering curse back towards the man who had cast it at Gilbert.

"It does," Gilbert agreed, "but not to better times," he added.

Reg laughed once more.

His years at war and as an auror had seen him come to adapt to these very situations. He thrived in them, a sentiment that his long-suffering friend did not echo.

Gilbert had become an excellent fighter in his own right, but out of necessity.

Still, the man had evidently maintained the training habits Harry had instilled within them.

Thus far, he hadn't missed a beat, and Reg felt all the better for having Gilbert at his back.

"You're a mad bastard, Yaxley," Gilbert grumbled.

Reg smiled.

It wouldn't be a fight without Gilbert voicing his woes, and this was certainly shaping up to be quite the battle. Between Harry and Voldemort, and the desperate Death Eaters, the Ministry atrium was in chaos, an event that would undoubtedly be cemented in wizarding history.

However, Reg's smiled suddenly fell as he spotted a Death Eater running towards Harry, his wand levelled at his friend.

"EVANS!" he shouted in warning, only to balk as the man garbed in black robes fired a sickly, purple spell towards Harry's back.

It was as though time stood still as the curse sailed through the air, and Reg and the others could only look on helplessly.

Harry didn't even react at all, and just as Reg resigned himself to the fact that the spell would reach him, he balked as a black mass erupted from Harry's back, a large maw opening and swallowing the purple bolt.

With a screech that caused Reg to cover his ears from the shrillness, Harry's shadowy companion did not pause,, its ember eyes glowing eerily as snapped its jaws around the attacker.

The man screamed in agony as the fangs punctured him, and even louder as he was thrown into the air.

He hit the floor with a wet, dull thud, and there he remained, dead, and with his blood oozing from his wounds.

If nothing else, the presence of the snake served as a deterrent to any other who were considering interfering, and it certainly troubled Voldemort who took several steps back out of striking range of the odd creature who remained poised, ready to strike at any that dared wander into its path.

"Fucking hell, look at the size of it!" Gilbert choked.

They had seen the snake before, but it had grown considerably during the intervening decades.

"I wonder what he feeds it," Reg mused aloud, eliciting a roar of pain from a large man, hitting him with a searing curse.

Many would have given up the fight having been hit with such a thing, but this man did not.

With an animalistic growl, he charged towards Reg, the skin around his shoulder smouldering.

It was then that Reg realised that this was no mere man, but it wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with what he suspected was an untransformed werewolf.

With a flick of his wand, his flame whip wrapped around the neck of the creature.

"Gil!" he called as it ploughed onwards, despite its searing neck.

Without a second to spare, Gilbert struck out with a bone-breaker to the face, and Reg's foe finally collapsed to the ground, choking on his own blood.

"Shit that was close," Reg gasped, sneaking a glance towards Harry and Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was an exceedingly skilled wizard, so much so that Reg doubted there were many he could truly match him, but he was facing off with Harry, a seasoned veteran who was the most gifted fighter Reg had ever met.

Still, although it was unlikely, magic could be an unpredictable mistress, and there was a chance that Voldemort could capitalise if Harry made even a single error.

The thought filled Reg with dread, but he wouldn't doubt his friend, and as he continued fighting off the dwindling number of Death Eaters, he was confident that Harry would emerge victorious, just as he had in their younger years on the continent.

(Break)

"Are you sure you're alright, Remus?" James asked worriedly.

The boy was paler than usual and sweating profusely as they completed their homework.

"I already said I'm fine!" Remus snapped irritably.

James shared a look with Sirius and Peter, neither of the others believing their friend.

"Is there not any medicine for your illness?" the latter asked.

Remus's nostrils flared and he took several deep breaths before shaking his head.

"No," he whispered sadly. "There's no medicine for it."

"There must be something," James sighed. "What is it you have? I can ask my mum. She used to be a healer."

"There isn't anything," Remus huffed as he began packing his things away, no longer wishing to discuss it.

"Remus, we just want to help you," James assured the boy as he grabbed his forearm to prevent him from leaving.

Remus's lower lip began to tremble.

"You can't help me, James," he choked. "No one can."

"Bollocks," Sirius declared. "There's always something that can be done. We're your friends, Remus. Let us try."

Remus said nothing, his gaze shifting towards the window.

James followed it with his own, and he found himself looking at the almost full moon.

He frowned in confusion, his stomach sinking as things began to fell into place.

It was every month that Remus became unwell, more irritable, and paler.

He would spend a few days in the Hospital Wing and return to them as well as ever, until the following month.

James swallowed deeply as he remembered one of the private lessons Harry had given him a few months before he came to the castle.

'Werewolves are just like us mostly, only there are a few days out of the month when their curse can affect them quite badly. I like to think of it as a furry little problem.'

James's gaze shifted back towards his friend, and he felt himself filled with sadness.

"When did it happen?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Remus returned cautiously.

James looked around the common room to ensure they were not being eavesdropped on.

"When were you bitten?"

Sirius and Peter looked towards him questioningly, but James ignored them, his eyes fixed on his other friend.

Remus looked as though he would flee, but James gripped his arm tighter to prevent him doing so.

"Remus," he pleaded.

Tears began to spill down the boys' cheek and he wiped them away furiously with his sleeve.

"I was five," he sniffed reluctantly.

James nodded and helped his friend back into his chair.

"You'll probably want to stay away from me now," Remus whispered as he stared off into the distance.

"Oh, shut up," James sighed. "You just have a furry little problem," he japed.

"A furry little problem?" Remus returned bitterly. "You could say that."

"And you could spend the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself, but I won't let you do that," James retorted firmly.

"What is going on?" Sirius asked confusedly.

James released a deep breath as he looked towards him and Peter.

They were Remus's friends too, loyal friends who would not abandon him, of that, James had no doubt.

"Remus is a werewolf," he explained in a whisper.

Sirius's eyebrows almost vanished into his hairline as his mouth fell agape, and Peter whimpered.

"Bloody hell," Sirius muttered. "Why didn't you say anything, you prat?"

Remus shook his head.

"It's not something you advertise," he murmured, shooting a furtive glance around the common room.

"We're your mates, aren't we?" Peter asked.

The boy was offended that he didn't know, but not because he wished to keep his distance.

Remus shrugged.

"Please don't tell anyone," he all but begged. "They'll want me kicked out of school."

"We won't," James assured him. "Will we?"

Peter and Sirius both shook their heads firmly.

"We won't let that happen," Sirius promised, "and now, you've got us to help you."

"You can't help me, Sirius," Remus sighed.

"We'll find a way," Sirius replied, undeterred by difficulty of doing so. "Won't we?"

James nodded.

"We will find a way," he vowed, echoing the sentiment of the other boy. "What's Minerva doing here?" he questioned as their head of house entered the common room.

"Dunno, but she looks worried about something," Sirius muttered as the woman made her way to the centre of the room.

"All students are to remain in here until further notice," she announced. "Perkins, come with me," she requested, gesturing towards the Head Boy.

The two left the room, the professor ignoring the questions that followed.

"What do you think is going on?" Sirius asked.

"I don't know," James answered, "but it must be bad if we're being locked in."

Perkins returned a moment later, an expression of deep concern marring his features.

"What's happening, Graham?" one of the prefects asked.

Perkins shook his head.

"Alright, you lot," he called, his voice trembling. "We've just been informed that Voldemort is attempting to take the Ministry."

The mood within the common room suddenly became rather sombre at the announcement.

"Professor Evans is there fighting him," Perkins continued. "All we can do is wait to see what happens."

James felt himself filled with dread, and he shared a knowing look with Sirius.

"My dad's there," he whispered.

"And my grandfather," Sirius added worriedly.

"Professor Evans is fighting Voldemort?" Lily asked as she approached them with Marlene and Alice in tow. "What's going to happen?"

"Harry will murder the bastard," James replied confidently, his jaw tightening at the thought of his father fighting at the Ministry.

Sirius nodded his agreement, but he too was unsettled.

Both boys knew they had family there.

Neither Arcturus Black nor Charlus Potter would let Harry fight without them.

"Shit," James muttered, wishing he was older so that he could be there with them, his thoughts also wandering to his mother who would be beside herself with worry.

"Come on, dad," he whispered pleadingly, praying to any deity that would hear his words for his father to be returned to him and his mother safe and unharmed.

(Break)

Nothing Voldemort had offered had come as a surprise to Harry. The man was indeed a very gifted wizard, ruthless in his attack, but relied heavily on his knowledge and expertise of the Dark Arts, foolishly believing so ardently in their superiority when it came to combat.

Harry had already proven him wrong, and though Tom was making adjustments where needed rather admirably, it was clear that he had never faced such adversity.

Where the man was a magical powerhouse, and his form was quite flawless, he lacked creativity, and inevitably reverted back to what he knew best when he found himself in trouble.

Unfortunately for him, his defensive magic was not on par with his excellent offense, and as such, Harry knew he needed to continue as he was, frustrating Riddle until he inevitably made an admittedly rare mistake.

Harry would not miss that opening, but for the time being, the duel would seemingly continue in earnest until the right moment to end it came along.

"Crucio!"

Once more, Harry side-stepped the attempt before returning the gesture, causing Voldemort's eyes to widen in shock, evidently not having expected such a spell from him.

Harry gave the man a pointed look, his attack continuing with a flurry of rupturing and blood-boiling curses.

Riddle struggled to bat them aside, not entirely unscathed by the battle.

Harry had caught his arm with a rather nasty cutting curse, though it had already stopped bleeding.

Undoubtedly, the man had completed a plethora of rituals for a wound of that nature to seal on its own, but he was still favouring the limb somewhat.

Still, it was an inconvenience, but Harry didn't allow it to bother him much.

Tom would die here tonight, despite any rituals or other magics he had delved into.

"Just die, Evans!" Voldemort snarled, his wand spewing out an array of obscure curses that Harry had learned from books in the Flamel library, most of which had been handwritten.

How Tom had come across them, he knew not, but as he had been doing since the beginning of the fight, he frustrated the Dark Lord by nullifying his offerings with apparent ease.

Another flurry of spells came towards him, and Harry batted each away and shook his head mockingly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he implemented the most insulting thing he could do in this moment.

Hissing loudly, he called forth the knowledge he had devoured from the Slytherin library and unleashed a barrage of spells towards Voldemort, leaving the man screaming in unbridled fury as he did all he could to defend himself from the magic of his own ancestors.

(Break)

The Dark Lord was loathe to admit that he was beginning to fade, that he had been wounded several times, and that Harry Evans was getting the better of their exchanges.

It was frustrating to say the least.

Lord Voldemort was the superior wizard, and yet, it was as though Evans could read his mind, that he knew exactly was coming for him even before it had been cast.

It was trickery that made him so successful, a dangerous trickery, but he was still a fraud, and hearing him speak the noble language of his line only added to the many insults he had already endured.

"YOU DARE?" Voldemort roared as he fought to fend off the parselmagic that he had been denied the knowledge of.

Evans had stolen it from the chamber, the Dark Lord's birth right, and he had the unmitigated gall to use it against him.

The man offered no reply, giving Voldemort no reprieve as his attack only intensified.

Evans was fast, his wandwork flawless, and unlike nothing else the Dark Lord had ever seen before.

It was clear to see why he was so revered and respected, why the thought of crossing him made even the most prominent of men balk.

The Dark Lord, however, was no normal man.

Evans could never hope to defeat him, not truly, and the thought brought a grin to his lips as he narrowly avoided a particularly nasty gouging curse.

"You may win the battle, Evans, but victory is so far out of your reach," he called mockingly. "None have ever taken the steps that I have to ensure that I cannot be beaten."

Much to the Dark Lord's surprise, however, Evans merely offered him a knowing smirk before reaching into his inside pocket.

From it, he removed a few items, and Lord Voldemort frowned as the man threw them on the floor in front of him.

It was a sense of horror that filled him as he recognised them, each having been destroyed.

The cup, the locket, and the diadem.

How?

None had been made privy to the knowledge of his Horcruxes, and yet, Evans had obtained three of them.

Lestrange's foolish son was responsible for the diadem, but how had he come into possession of the others?

No, such a thing was an impossibility, though they were here, despite his own disbelief.

Still, the diary was safe, a realisation that brought little comfort in what he faced.

"Basilisk venom is a very useful substances," Evans commented humourlessly. "The diary is being retrieved at this very moment. By the end of the night, you and your vile creations will be remembered as nothing more than a brief inconvenience in our history, a failed lunatic who overestimated himself."

"NO!" Voldemort denied furiously. "Tonight is the night of my glory, and it will be remembered as the time that the great Harry Evans crossed wands with his better and died as the foolish man he was."

Evans had the temerity to laugh at him before his relentless attack continued, somehow with more vigour than before, his intention to kill him seemingly stronger than ever.

(Break)

"Keep searching, Bones," Crouch instructed.

The Lady Malfoy shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"The Ministry has checked every inch of the house several times over the years, Crouch. There is nothing to be found."

"I will be the judge of that," Crouch replied irritably. "Now, if you will be so kind, could you show me to the drawing room?"

Lady Malfoy frowned.

"My husband will be most displeased with you searching through his personal paperwork."

"Well, your husband is not here, is he?" Crouch returned evenly. "Do you know his whereabouts?"

The lady wrapped her gown around her tighter, her lips pursed as she shook her head.

"My husband does not see fit to tell me of his movements. He could be any number of places.

"Such a shame," Crouch snarked. "The drawing room."

"Very well," Lady Malfoy huffed as she led the way.

"Moody, you're with me."

The younger man nodded and followed, and Barty wondered just how good the information was that Evans had given him.

If there was indeed a hidden room full of dark objects, Malfoy would have some explaining to do, but Evans' insistence on destroying a diary that had belonged to Tom Riddle using the basilisk venom the man had provided was an odd request.

Still, Barty was nothing if not a man of his word, and he would do as he had been bid if he found such a diary.

"It's just a drawing room, gentlemen," Lady Malfoy explained as she showed them in to one of the rooms tucked away on the ground floor.

Crouch hummed as he ducked below the desk and rubbed the palm of his hand atop the carpet.

At first, nothing appeared to be amiss, but then he felt a subtle jolt of concealed magic.

Drawing his wand, he found it once more and nodded to himself as he identified it, and with a few muttered words of French, the desk above him began to move, sliding back towards the nearby window and revealing a descending staircase.

"Well, well, well," Barty murmured as he lit the tip of his wand.

Lady Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised by the hidden room but offered no comment as Barty made his way down, his eyes widening gleefully at the sight of wares within.

Abraxus Malfoy was in more trouble than any amount of gold would get him out of.

The shelves were full of items, some not quite illegal, but certainly questionable in nature, and others would see him facing a rather long stint in Azkaban

"Nundu essence, harvested muggle organs, cursed jewellery," he reeled off as he perused the shelves, shaking his head.

However, it wasn't until he came upon a locked box with a serpent engraved in the front that he paused, the magic of it brushing across his senses and making the man shiver.

Barty Crouch knew dark magic, had spent much of his life on the never-ending crusade of eradicating things such as this, and as he opened the box with a flick of his wand, he found himself looking upon the very diary Evans had described to him.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Barty murmured, resisting the urge to reach out and grab it.

Whatever the item was, it appeared to be sentient, and anything belonging to Tom Riddle could not be good.

With a nod, having already decided to do as Evans instructed, he levitated the book out of the box and took his leave of the room to dispose of it.

"What do you have there, sir?" Moody asked curiously, eying the book with concern.

Barty didn't answer, but instead removed the phial of venom from within the robes before allowing the diary to drop to the floor with a dull thud.

"Sir, what is that?" Moody pressed.

Uncorking the bottle, Barty poured the contents onto it and took a step back.

At first, nothing happened, and he believed that Evans may have been mistaken until a piercing scream filled the room and the three occupants were blown off their feet by the magical backlash.

Barty couldn't be certain, but as the diary smoked, he was sure he saw a shadowy figure with red eyes emerge and glare at him for the briefest second.

"Sweet Merlin, what was that?" Lady Malfoy gasped as she pushed herself to her feet.

The woman had paled, but Barty didn't know what the item had been, though he had no doubt that the world was better off without it.

"Sir are you alright?" one of the aurors searching the house questioned as he burst into the room with his wand drawn, followed by a dozen or so others.

"I'm fine," Barty assured the man. "I want that cellar emptied and every item catalogued."

"Of course, sir, but there is something you should be aware of," the auror replied frantically.

"What is it?" Barty snapped.

He finally had all the evidence he needed to bring Abraxus Malfoy to justice, and he didn't have time for distractions.

"We just received a report that Voldemort's mark has been seen hovering above the Ministry. According to Matthews, Evans and his lot are in there fighting him."

Barty's eyes widened uncharacteristically, shocked by the revelation.

"Well, what the bloody hell are we standing here for? Danvers, you, and Allman will remain here. Everyone else, let's go!"

Charging from the Malfoy home with his aurors in tow, Barty wondered just what was happening. How had Voldemort gained entry into the Ministry with his forces?

Barty shook his head of the thought knowing that he needed to focus.

It didn't matter how the man got in, what mattered was ensuring he did not escape, though the knowledge that Evans was somehow already there and fighting him assuaged his concerns, somewhat.

(Break)

It was the first time that Jack had truly been able to use the elder wand in a combat situation. With the Death Eaters having been feeling at the sight of the aurors, he'd not experienced the wand as he wished, but having sone so now, he found himself in awe at what it was capable of.

It was as though the wand was guiding him, exchanging nearby foes, and reacting to his thoughts rather than his actions.

It meant that his spells were coming faster, more fluidly, and even his defensive work seemed to have been bolstered by it.

Jack was no slouch when it came to his fighting ability, he was his father's son, after all, but the wand seemed to elevate his prowess to new heights, and he understood just why it had such a bloody history.

It would be easy to fall into a false sense of security with how it made the user feel, though Jack was no fool.

He did not fall under the illusion that he could hope to defeat his father or Voldemort who seemed to be almost frozen in a state of shock, his eyes transfixed on some discarded items on the floor.

For the first time since the man and his father had begun their duel, Jack saw something in the Dark Lord that made him much less terrifying.

Fear.

Voldemort finally realised that he should be fearful of his father who merely glared at the other man, a look that made even Jack feel a chill in his bones.

Harry Evans was a frightening man, and though Jack had rarely seen him angry, he'd learned not to doubt the ruthless nature of his father.

Jack was too far away to hear the following exchange between the two men until Voldemort screamed.

"NO!"

Whatever was said next, Jack would never know but his father's eyes seemed to burn brighter as he unleashed another attack, his robes rippling from the power he emitted.

Voldemort did all he could to defend himself, but the magic of his father only grew more powerful, the ground beneath his feet cracking, and it was clear that the Dark Lord was unable to sustain the onslaught.

All eyes shifted to the men just as one of his father's spells slipped through Voldemort's defences and collided with his chest.

To Jack, it was like everything froze as the Dark Lord staggered backwards, and his wand clattered to the floor, though nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

Voldemort began to shake uncontrollably, and he gasped in pain as he staggered forward, only to pause as green flames began to lick at his feet and spread up his body.

To his credit, the screaming didn't begin until they got past his knees, but Jack would never forget the haunting sound for as long as he lived.

For several minutes, the world around him stood still as the Dark Lord burned, the agonised wailing continuing long after he was fully engulfed by the fire, and all the time, his father's eyes never left his burning foe.

There was no satisfaction in his gaze, nor was there relief. If anything, Jack would always believe his father wanted Voldemort to suffer even more than he had in his final throes of life.

Even as a seasoned auror, the smell of charred flesh was not something he had ever become accustomed to, nor was seeing someone perish in such a way.

If anyone in Britain had ever doubted what his father was capable of, they wouldn't now, not with how he had dispatched of Lord Voldemort.

Without their leader, the remaining Death Eaters threw their wands down, conceding defeat, and were left with no other choice than to see what fate had in store for them.

They would be punished harshly, of that, Jack had no doubt, but even with the fighting having come to an end, his father continued staring at the burned husk that had been Tom Marvolo Riddle, lost on his own thoughts.

(Break)

It was over, and yet, Harry didn't feel the elation he had expected to at killing Voldemort. Perhaps it was that so much time had passed since the man had been the thing to haunt his dreams, the cause of all the misery he had endured in his life.

Things were so different now.

Harry was no longer a helpless, orphan boy forced to live in a cupboard with only his nightmares for company.

No, he had built a life for himself, had grown beyond being a meek boy and had ultimately changed the world through his own blood, sweat, and tears.

Tom Riddle was nothing but a loose end that had needed to be tied up, but still, he had hoped to feel more than the meagre satisfaction he did in this moment.

With a shake of his head, he turned to find his men apprehending the remaining Death Eaters amongst the dead and injured.

It would indeed be remembered as a bloody day in British wizarding history, but Voldemort was gone now.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by the flaring of the fireplaces as the aurors that he had ensured would be otherwise occupied arrived, led by Barty Crouch who stalked towards him.

"What the hell happened, Evans?" he demanded, his moustache twitching irritably.

"He's dead," Harry answered simply, nodding to where the blackened remains of the Dark Lord rested. "What happens to those is up to the Ministry," he added jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the Death Eaters before heading towards the fireplaces.

"Where are you going, dad?" Jack asked, falling into step with him.

He was joined quickly by Charlus, Arcturus, Reg, Gilbert, and Petr whom Harry had kept his promise to, and it was a wave of relief that washed over him seeing that they had all made it out alive.

"I'm going home, Jack," he replied simply, pausing to offer those that had always been by his side a grateful smile. "We did it."

"We always do it," Charlus snorted. "We might not be as young as we were the first time around, but we've still got it."

The others nodded their agreement and Harry chuckled.

"Well, if I have my way, there won't be anymore wars for us to fight."

"Why am I disappointed by that?" Reg sighed.

"Because you're a bloody lunatic," Gilbert huffed. "I'm going home too," he declared. "Sorina will be waiting."

"Nancy too," Reg added with a smile.

"We all have people waiting for us," Charlus pointed out.

Harry nodded.

"Not Jack," Harry pointed out.

"That will change soon enough," Jack replied, his eyes trailing a blonde auror who had arrived with Crouch. "It's probably time to settle down. Someone has to give you and mum grandchildren."

Harry smiled at the thought as he clapped his son on the shoulder, already dreading the fallout the events of the evening would cause.

(Break)

Having passed on the news of the ensuing fighting to the Head Boy, Minerva had opted to return home. She had wanted nothing more than to go to the Ministry, but it would do no good.

It would be here that Harry came when all was said and done.

If he lived, of course.

Minerva shook her head of that thought, ignoring the memory of her meeting with Cassandra Trelawney so many years ago.

Harry wouldn't die, he couldn't.

It felt like hours that she had been pacing around the room with the view of the gardens, her usual tranquillity all but absent as she did her best to not ponder the worst possible outcome of the evening.

Jack was with Harry too, so it was not only her husband she worried for, but as the fireplace flared to life and the latter stepped out, she suddenly found herself speechless and unable to move.

Much to her relief, Harry came to her, pulling Minerva into his arms as he whispered the needed reassurances in her ear.

"It's done," he informed her. "Jack is okay."

For the first time in many years, Minerva sobbed in relief, the very same way she did when she learned that Harry had defeated Grindelwald and would be coming back to her.

It was as though a burden of almost five decades was immediately lifted, and she could breathe freely for the first time.

"How are you?" she asked gently, cupping his cheek.

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I thought there would be more, but it's just over. I'm glad he's gone, but it just always seemed that after everything there would be…"

"Would be what?" Minerva pressed.

Harry smiled as he shook his head.

"There's nothing else to have," he said in realisation. "I already have everything I ever wanted, but now I just get to enjoy it without knowing he is out there."

Minerva smiled through her tears as she understood what he meant.

"So, what happens now?"

Harry shrugged once more.

"I don't care," he said dismissively. "Now, I finally get to live my life, really live without prophecies, Dark Lords or anything else hanging over me."

Minerva nodded as she grinned.

"What will you do first?" she asked curiously.

"Well," Harry mused aloud, "there is a school full of children who will need their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor tomorrow. You know me, I like to keep it simple."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at her husband.

Harry was not a simple man and had never been that since she had known him, but for the first time in all the years she had, she believed he might just be happy enough with a simpler life.

Or so she hoped.